Legendary Defender
by TheyCallMetheTailor
Summary: After Keith loses his job as the youngest detective in the history of the Altean City Police Department, he goes undercover as the private bodyguard for none other than Lance McClain, McClain Industries President's infamously irresponsible second son. Keith struggles to put up with his immature antics to get to the bottom of the case that cost him his job, but Lance has his own sec
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Keith stared blankly at his Commander, the rush of blood in his ears drowning out all sound. Commander Shiro's face was drawn into a sympathetic frown, and his lips moved as he said something, but Keith couldn't quite make out the words through the haze of shock twisting his insides. Behind Shiro, small red lights blinked innocuously around the digital map of the city, looking like cheerful holiday lights even as Keith knew they indicated real time crimes taking place. He couldn't have heard him right.

"I'm not sure I heard you right," Keith said,

"I'm afraid you did," Commander Shiro said, tone regretful, but final.

"You…but, I..." Keith spluttered, unable to harness the roiling in his gut to coherent thought. Images of faces flashed vividly in his mind. Images of the people be'd promised to help and that would never see justice. "You can't do this!" The words tore out of his throat, his anger and desperation almost animalistic in their rawness. Several heads turned toward Commander Shiro's windowed office at the shout, but Keith barely noticed them.

"Detective Kogane," Shiro started, reaching with his still flesh and blood arm to place a calming hand on Keith's shoulder, but Keith jerked away, betrayal adding itself to the confusing mess of emotions he felt.

"I did nothing wrong," Keith growled, "And you _know_ that."

Keith was ready for his Commander to protest, to outline every single mistake Keith knew he'd made in this case leading up to now, but instead, Commander Shiro looked down, lines of regret shadowing his features. When Shiro turned back up, his eyes were burning with carefully harnessed anger of his own. "I know," he said, "I know."

Keith felt like a solar sail ship cut off from its star's light, "Then why…?"

"It's the safest way," he said, "If I let you continue investigating this case officially, you'll be imprisoned. Or worse."

"I don't care about that," Keith snapped, "I care about finding justice for these people."

"I care just as much as you do-"

"How can you say that when you're just abandoning them like this?" Keith demanded.

"I'm _not_ abandoning them." Shiro growled, even his well of patience appearing to wane at Keith's onslaught.

"Then what do you call firing me and dropping their case?"

Shiro sighed, then breathed deeply, as if collecting himself. "I'm not dropping the case," Shiro said, his patience more deliberate.

"Then how...wait? What?" Keith stopped short, his narrow-eyed gaze shifting from anger to confusion.

"As far as everyone knows, you're handing me your badge and gun, and that's the end of things," Shiro said.

"But…?"

"But you'll actually be going undercover for me." Commander Shiro said.

"Undercover…?" Keith echoed, plopping back down into his chair across the desk from Shiro. He hadn't even realized he'd stood up in the heat of the moment.

"Yes," Commander Shiro said, gaze softening as Keith visibly calmed, "You might've heard of it before."

Keith huffed. "Just tell me what you mean...sir." he added belatedly, feeling somewhat guilty for his outburst at his commanding officer. Commander Shiro had been in his corner since Keith had started here, he should've known he wouldn't just cave like this.

"I've recently received a request for a referral from an old family friend at McClain Company." Shiro handed Keith a sheet of paper with the McClain logo as the letterhead. Across the top, Keith read 'Offer of Employment.' "They're looking for a bodyguard for their son."

"They must be pretty high up to merit a bodyguard," Keith said, comprehension dawning.

"That's right," Shiro said, "About as high as you can get."

Keith was scanning the letter, when his eyes finally fell on the signature at the bottom. "Some old family friend you have," Keith looked up, astonished.

"Yeah, it's a long story," Commander Shiro said, "He approached me last week. Said his son was coming back to work and he wanted trustworthy protection for him."

"You mean you know the CEO of the McClain Company?" Keith asked, "The same company we've been investigating for ties in the disappearance of over a dozen Altea City citizens? And you never told me?"

"The less you knew, the better," Shiro said, "I don't know how high this goes, but now I know it was high enough to have the Mayor ask the Chief personally to have you quietly dismissed."

Keith could hardly contain his snort of disgust, clenching his fists, and breathed deeply. He'd already blown up at the one person on his side once today. He wouldn't misdirect his anger again. "Does Mr. McClain know what's going on at his company?" he asked instead.

"As far as I can tell, no. He hasn't...he doesn't seem well lately. He seemed thin and tired when I last saw him. From what I've discovered, he's been remote attending more than half his meetings lately, which is strange for someone who's known for being pretty hands 're keeping this news discreet with surprising success."

Already, Keith could feel his mind working in familiar patterns of thought, considering possible causes and effects based on the little he'd been able to gleen from the situation. "That's...strange. Do you think his illness has anything to do with the disappearances?"

"I considered it," Commander Shiro said, himself falling into a familiar pattern, "The timing is a bit too coincidental for comfort. The disappearances started shortly after his attendance started waning."

"Yet you don't think he has anything to do with it?" Keith asked, incredulous.

"You didn't see him," Commander Shiro said, "He looked severely ill when we met about this open position, even though he tried hard to hide it. I have a hard time believing he could be orchestrating something like this _and_ attending even half his meetings with the state he was in."

Keith frowned, thinking. "So you want me to take this guard position, see what I can find out from the inside?"

"Exactly," Commander Shiro said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "Nobody can know about this. It can't be official."

Keith gritted his teeth, cold spikes of fear finally inching their way through his muddled emotions. "I understand."

"Which is why I'll need your gun and your badge." Shiro said, and his own struggling in Shiro's face. That, more than anything, compelled him to reach slowly to remove the badge and ID from his breast pocket and the gun from his holster, placing them carefully on Commander Shiro's desk. Already, Keith felt their absence as a paradoxically added weight on his shoulders. His throat tightened at the sight.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. This was only temporary. Just until they could find out who was behind the disappearances and clear his name. But for some reason, it felt like he was losing a part of himself with those two, seemingly insignificant items. "You start tomorrow. I'll send you a few more things you'll need in the morning. You're to pick your charge up from the spaceport at midday." Shiro said, and Keith nodded vaguely, still sorting through his thoughts, then something occurred to him.

"Sir, which McClain son am I going to be guarding?" he asked.

"Ah, well," Shiro hesitated, his tone suspiciously bright, and Keith knew a glimmer of unease, "It's his second oldest. Lance McClain." Keith knew immediately why Commander Shiro had hesitated. Through his preliminary research on the family-owned McClain Company, Keith had looked into the President's family. From what he'd gathered in the innumerable tabloid articles about the second eldest of the McClain clan, he had an appetite for parties and philandering, and an aversion to anything resembling work. He wondered briefly why said son would be returning now to do exactly the opposite of what he apparently enjoyed, but the thought was quickly pushed aside by thoughts of all the preparations he'd need to make before he started his work tomorrow.

"I better get going if I'm going to be ready in time." Keith said, already feeling more centered. He was going to be doing something still. All hope was not lost.

"Right, I'll be as quick as possible about this." Commander Shiro said, then proceeded to brief Keith in more detail. After Keith signed the acceptance of the offer for employment, he was dismissed and he left his Commander's office.

Keith did his best to ignore the stares of his fellow - now former - officers as he left the precinct, but it was easier said than done. As the youngest officer ever to make detective in Altea City, he'd faced no small amount of resentment over the years. His half-Galran blood was even more salt on the wound. Now that he'd fallen from grace, the resentment was manifesting itself as knowing head shaking, vindictive glee, and even some aggravatingly pieous pity. Keith felt like punching something.

Keith scowled, finding it remarkably easy to feign the anger of someone who'd been wrongfully terminated. It wasn't far from the truth. Only his anger wasn't entirely for himself. He thought bitterly of the victims that had been so easily brushed aside. Forgotten. Keith would see this through. For them.

Despite his churning emotions and the oppressive stares, it seemed as if he was going to make it out of the precinct without incident when Officer Kent shoved his smug face in Keith's way. The man walked out of an adjoining hallway with his arms crossed casually, clearly having waited for Keith to approach on his way out. "I'm really sorry to hear about what happened," he said, voice pitched for Keith's ears only. The hallway around them was deserted. Clearly the guy had picked the spot for privacy.

Keith barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "I'm sure you are," he said, trying to shoulder past the man. This was one downside to not being truly fired. He couldn't burn this particular bridge the way it should be. With a well-placed fist to face. Unfortunately, he had work to do before tomorrow's pick-up, and he'd promised Shiro he wouldn't cause trouble.

Officer Kent side stepped, barring Keith's way. Keith glared, finally giving the officer his full attention.

"But really," the man said, all innocence. "Something like this was bound to happen when they made someone so young and inexperienced detective. Not to mention your...family history. It's not your fault, really."

Keith went still. He'd heard much worse than these veiled jibes since starting at the Altea Police Department, but he was in no mood for even polite conversation right now. "Tell me, _Officer_ Kent," Keith said, "Is it inexperience that's kept you from making detective for six years? Or is it just incompetence?"

The man's face flushed red in anger in response, and Keith took the opportunity to try and shove roughly past him. If Officer Kent was a smarter man, he'd've left it there. Instead, he grabbed Keith roughly by the the arm and leaned forward to snarl in his face. "The only reason you were ever detective was because you were the APD's shining example of diversity and all that post-war harmony bullshit. But now the world can see you for the scum you are."

"Get your fucking hands off me, Kent." Keith said, voice dangerously low. _No burning bridges_ he reminded himself inwardly, over and over like a mantra. _Don't give this asshole what he wants._

"What's the matter? Not so tough without your Commander to hide behind, are you?" Officer Kent said, sneering, then cocked his free arm back to swing his fist at Keith's face.

The man had scarcely blinked before Keith easily knocked his fist to the side, twisted his arm free of the other man's grip, and punched him square in the face. The man fell like a log to his hands and knees, wheezing.

If he wasn't supposed to burn bridges, Keith decided as he stalked away, people like Kent shouldn't make them out of wood.

* * *

AN: Hello, sorry to anyone who was reading the original version of this that I ended up deleting! This version is a bit more well-planned, and, as a result, hopefully better. I'm playing with a trope I love, I only hope I pull it off halfway decently. The plan is to post every 1-2 weeks as I finish editing/writing. I've already got a few chapters written, and I was going to wait till they all were, but I have no patience lol. Please let me know what you think, good or bad. Any input is super helpful and appreciated. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Mr McClain?" the voice echoed eerily through Lance's fugue, and he struggled to unseal his eyelids. Had he cemented them shut last night? He'd tried that once. Once. On a dare, sue him. He was pretty sure he'd sworn he'd never do it again, but right now opening his eyes felt just as impossible as it had then.

"Mr. McClain?" the voice came again, this time accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, and Lance jerked awake, eyes fluttering miraculously open. Okay, so, not cemented shut. Just a byproduct of a severe lack of sleep. Lance glanced around at his surroundings, heart rate rising as he realized he didn't recognize a single thing. It took him another moment to remember he was on private interplanetary shuttle sent to pick him up from Planet Iera. Stars, he already missed the arid rock and he wasn't even off this ship yet.

"Mr. McClain?" The voice came again, and Lance looked up to see one of the two flight attendants his father had assigned to his flight staring down at him, the scales of her face gleaming in the cabin lights.

"Why the hell did you wake me?" Lance asked groggily, already mourning the sweet embrace of sleep.

Lance saw her scales tinge blue as she flushed. "You-you, uh, told me to, sir."

"Oh," Lance said, with a twinge of guilt as he blearily recalled doing just that. "Right. Sorry. Thanks."

Lance was slowly rehashing the events of the past few nights with a growing sense of dread. Nausea twisted his gut with all the force of a hangover he knew he didn't have. His com unit weighed heavily in his pocket at the thought of the latest message from his brother. He resisted the urge to pull it out and re-read it. Besides, he'd read it so many times, he had it memorized by now. Even after so much repetition, the words still had a chilling effect on him:

 _Come home. LIfe or death._

And then, just seconds later, another message:

 _Sorry, Lance._

Lance had wondered - _hoped_ \- his brother had taken a practical joke a little too far. Still, he'd responded with the flurry of calls, text messages, and vid drops a cryptic message like that called for. He'd give his brother hell afterward if it was just a joke, but if it wasn't…he didn't even want to think about it.

Sebastian's response had been dead silence. Resisting the urge to panic at this point, he'd wondered why he hadn't received any calls from his family if something was wrong with Sebastian. When he'd videoed his sister, Ariana, he'd pretended to be annoyed that Sebastian was ignoring his calls to hide his fear.

She'd laughed at him. "Lance, bro, you sound like mom. Chill. He said he's supervising a super important cargo transport to a remote stellar region via _hyperway_. You know how that fucks up communication."

Lance's blood froze. "C-cargo transport?" he echoed, trying to keep his tone annoyed rather than fearful, "Oh...Oh, yeah. My bad. He did say something about that. And by the way, watch you damn language, sis." He added the last out of habit.

The subsequent calls to his other siblings and and parents had been made equally unnerving by the casual way they talked with him. He'd managed to gather, without revealing just how ignorant he'd originally been, that the trip was supposed to last a few months due to the long distance and relatively nascent infrastructure of the planet being delivered to. He couldn't detect a hint of worry or deception in his family, and of all the people he knew, they were the easiest to read.

He spent hours wracked with impotent worry, struggling to figure out what to do. Sebestian had apparently only mentioned anything to him, and no one else. Why? _Come home._ The message had said. _Life or death._ The only reason Sebestian would keep a secret like that from his family was if it would put them at risk.

The call with his father had finally made Lance's decision for him. His father had asked him, since he'd just recently failed his third and most recent Fighter Grade pilot test, if he'd consider coming home.

"At least temporarily," his father had added, unusually willing to offer up concessions of his own volition. Lance wondered if maybe his father was finally coming to understand that the family business wasn't Lance's inevitable final destination after the pit stop that was his current effort to become a Space Law Enforcer.

"Mr. McClain," the nervous flight attendant prodded, and Lance was pulled back to the present with a jolt. "Do you need assistance with your bags?"

"Oh, no. Thank you."

Swallowing his unpleasant thoughts and unbuckling himself from his seat, Lance pulled up his hoodie and shades. He used to relish the extra attention, but not after the past few years, and not after his brother's recent message weighing him down. He forced himself to retrieve his luggage from the overhead compartment, letting out a quiet _oof_ of surprise as its weight yanked his arms down. He hadn't had to load it himself at take-off, and was surprised how much the bare essentials managed to weigh.

Lance stumbled out of the cabin, doing his best to drag his luggage behind him while maintaining a sense of dignity. Pausing, he turned around and flashed the best smile he could offer at the flight attendant, who was standing at the door. She stiffened when they made eye contact, face flushing all over again, then waved awkwardly at Lance.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, waving back.

Lance was on the other side of security before he realized he hadn't even tried to flirt with the cute flight attendant. He must've been more out of it than he thought.

Lance groaned at the sight of a stranger holding a halo pad with his name displayed in the pick-up area of his terminal. Of course his father had sent someone to pick him up, despite numerous assurances by Lance that he'd be perfectly fine getting to his apartment by himself, thank you very much. At least it only said "Lance" and not his full name. Maybe he could feign ignorance and pass the unfortunate man by, but a second glance at the sign bearer gave Lance pause.

The guy was young with a lean build that spoke of careful attention to physical improvement and a god-awful mess of clearly-unshampooed hair that screamed just the opposite. Judging by the bags under the man's eyes, he'd probably gotten just as much sleep the night before as Lance had. Despite his clear exhaustion, he seemed remarkably alert. He stood with feet shoulder-width apart, tired eyes sharp and shoulders back, as if expecting trouble. Lance's heart sank. His father hadn't sent a chauffeur, he realized with a growing sense of horror, he'd sent a damn bodyguard. He should've expected it, but it galled nonetheless.

Lance was just averting his gaze to avoid catching the other's attention when the man's eyes flickered up and their gazes locked, a glimmer of recognition lighting the stranger's expression.

Lance's hopes of ignoring his father's wishes as summarily as his father had his own tanked. So much for his clever disguise. Sighing inwardly, Lance approached the man, lowering his sunglasses just enough to make unfettered eye contact with him. His new bodyguard raised unimpressed eyebrows.

"Mr. McClain," the stranger said, holding his hand out to shake, his expression smoothing out as he adopted a professional demeanor. The change didn't seem to suit him, his movements stiff and uncomfortable. "I'm Kevin Gokane. Your father sent me. I'll be ensuring your safety for the duration of your stay."

A familiar spike of irritation flared in his gut at the mention of his father. The words were a thinly veiled warning from his old man. Accept this condition or lose privileges. He was tempted to give his dad the proverbial middle finger and tell this Kevin guy to take a hike, but then he would never find out what that cryptic message from his brother was about. For now, he had to play nice. Lance took the man's hand, determined to out-unimpressed the guy. It was the principle of the matter. "Kevin, huh?" Lance pretended to size the man up behind his shades. "You can drop the formalities. Just Lance will do."

The man smiled stiffly. "With all do respect, sir, I think I'll stick with 'Mr. McClain.'"

Lance took his sunglasses off fully now, glaring at the man. He was preparing to push the issue when he spotted the exact last person he wanted to see in that moment _._ He quickly shoved his sunglasses back on and side-stepped so that Kevin stood between him and the source of his anxiety. Kevin seemed to notice his distress and tensed. He gave Lance a questioning look. "Okay, fine, Mr. Bodyguard Man," Lance bit out, "Time to ensure my safety and make sure _she_ ," he pointed behind Kevin, "doesn't see _me_ on our way - no don't look!" Lance's voice rose in panic.

He glanced behind Kevin and felt the blood drain from his face. His shout and Kevin's motion had attracted her attention. His eyes met a familiar set of pupiless emerald eyes, set in a face so jaw-droppingly beautiful it could charm even the stars. And Lance. Oh, how he'd been charmed.

 _Nyma._

Kevin finally turned the rest of the way around to look in Nyma's direction. Nyma's face, which had been frozen since contact, suddenly brightened. She was positively beaming now as she sauntered towards them.

"Shit! She's coming this way," Lance hissed and gripped Kevin's arm, "Quick! Do something before she gets to me!"

Kevin watched the approaching Nyma dubiously, "I don't think she's an immediate threat to your well-being."

"She is. A very big threat. To my _emotional_ well-being." Lance assured him. Kevin continued to look unimpressed. In fact, he looked dangerously close to eye rolling.

"Lance!" Nyma said when she at last approached them. Predictably, his father's new employee was completely useless. "It's been ages."

"Nyma," Lance said, considerably less brightly.

"What are _you_ doing back in town?" she asked, intelligent eyes gauging his reaction, and Lance was glad for his sunglasses. He wondered how he'd never noticed the guile

that was so obvious to him now.

"Why do I get the feeling you already have some idea?" Lance asked.

"I might," she said, and there was an awkward pause. Lance hated that she probably did at that. Or at least, the failed test. By all appearances, he was crawling back home to his dad in defeat.

"How crazy is this, huh? What are the chances that you'd be here? In this exact terminal? Right when I came back to town?" Beside him, Kevin stiffened.

"Oh you know," she said vaguely, waving a hand, "Lot's of important people come through here. Gotta be on the lookout."

"How...predatory of you," Lance replied, the words slipping out in a spike of anger, "I guess some things never change." Nyma's face retained its smile, even as it grew icy. Lance knew he'd struck a nerve. He felt a twinge of guilt, but quickly shook it off. Why should _he_ feel guilty?

"A girl's gotta eat," she said, "We can't all be born with servants feeding us out of silver spoons."

Lance sputtered. Everything always came back to that, didn't it? For some reason, he couldn't manage any response to her. Must've been the shuttle lag. Nyma's smile widened and she turned her attention to Kevin.

"And who's this?" she asked.

"None of your business," Lance cut in before Kevin could respond. He wasn't sure the new guy would be stupid enough to talk, but he wasn't about to risk it. He turned to Kevin. "She's spreads gossip for a living. You can't trust a word she says."

Nyma stayed cool as ever, but her voice grew hard. "I'm a _reporter_ ," she said.

Lance scoffed. "Yeah, right," he pulled off his sunglasses so he could look her in the eye, "Last time I checked, most 'reporters' don't sleep with their subjects."

Nyma smiled, her voice taking on a skeptical edge, "Says the man who sleeps with anything that walks."

There was so much wrong packed into such a small statement, Lance didn't know where to begin. "That would explain you and me, then. You met my only requirement to bang."

"Mr McClain," Kevin's voice broke through Lance's fuming and the bodyguard gripped his elbow lightly. Lance was suddenly aware of wide-eyed onlookers pausing in their tracks pointing and murmuring to each other. He hadn't even realized he'd started raising his voice. Lance slammed his glasses back onto his face, even though he knew they were somewhat useless now. He couldn't even bring himself to look back at Nyma. Luckily, Kevin was already directing him away from her, "We should be going, now."

"Right," Lance said, adopting false bravado as he was led away, "Lots of work to do. Like, _real_ work that doesn't involve invading other people's privacy." Lance couldn't help but adding. Like hell he'd let someone else have the last word. Especially if that someone was Nyma.

When they finally made it out of the spaceport and to the planetside transport pick-up location, Lance was in an increasingly irritable mood, but he managed to retain his usual smug expression. They were accosted by no less than a dozen more reporters on the way, Kevin doing a much better job of fending off these ones than Nyma.

Still, after the fifth time he was asked about whether or not his return was an indication of his intent to settle down and join his father's company, Lance wanted to shoot something. Or maybe spend a night partying. Both were equally viable options for lightening his mood, but he had serious doubts he'd be able to manage them tonight.

As soon as they stepped outside, Lance stopped in his tracks.

He'd forgotten how beautiful it all was. The spaceport was built to scrape the sky for easy access from space, towering over even the tallest of other structures in the city. This vantage point lended itself to one of the most incredible views of the city. Everything sprawled out below them like a miniature 3-D model, hover vehicles zipping along the mulit-level hover strips, buildings gleaming in the sunlight, lights brightening in the dimming rays of twilight. They were so high up, Lance couldn't make out anything below the cloudline, let alone any people, but evidence of their design was there in the clean-edged marvels within his view.

Lance felt an ache he hadn't been aware of before ease in his chest. Despite everything, and no matter what happened, it did feel good to be home.

Lance pressed the remote call button on his hovercar and smiled when he saw it approaching a few minutes later. It zipped effortlessly between cars until it came to a stop in front of Lance and his new bodygaurd. Lance entered the passcode to unlock his vehicle and turned to Kevin with a grin, his recent troubles temporarily forgotten. "I hope you don't mind manual drive."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Keith wasn't particularly religious, but five minutes into the McClain heir's driving, he was starting to wonder if praying to whoever might be listening wouldn't be the prudent option. The heir was blathering on incessantly, something about finally being able get ahold of his favorite skincare brand now that he was back in town, all the while weaving in and out of traffic like a maniac, nearly flying off the hover strip three separate times, and following much too closely for comfort.

If Keith was still a Galaxy Bureau officer, he'd be hard pressed not to give McClain a ticket. He wondered how McClain had managed to avoid having his license revoked. As it was, he just hoped he made it to the apartment with his life. Next time, he'd make sure he drove instead.

"I mean, how hard can it be to send a measly package of bottles out to Iara?" McClain was saying. Keith grunted noncommittally in reply, his white-knuckled grip on his armrest tightening as they barely avoided rear-ending a merging hovercar, and that seemed to be all the encouragement McClain needed to go on. "Iara is practically untapped. It has way more potential than my father's giving it credit for. But it's not as if he'd..." The heir trailed off. Perhaps the sound of his own voice wasn't enough to keep him going forever.

Keith decided to take advantage of the small lull in the one-sided conversation. "Sir, you may want to slow down."

McClain turned to give Keith a withering look, the momentary lapse in attention to the hover strip doing more to intimidate Keith than anything else. "Your job is to sit quietly and 'escort' - not to tell me how to drive."

Keith's irritation and anxiety flared. "Your 'driving' is going to get both of us killed."

Keith saw a flash of something he couldn't quite identify flicker across the heir's features before it was quickly replaced with a smirk, "What's the matter? Big bad bodyguard can't handle a little extra speed?" He punctuated the last word with a shift in gears that made the hovercar lurch forward sickeningly.

Keith might've cut back with a retort, but just then the McClain heir swerved right with a cursory signal of his intent. He proceeded to pull into the parking structure of the Aeona building, which Keith recognized from newsclips of the impressive luxury structure from the briefing file. The building, while not as tall as the spaceport, still towered over even their high vantage point on the hover strip.

The McClain heir pulled into a parking space labeled 'McClain' - nearly taking out the taillight of the car parked next to his in the process - and pressed the button to power off the vehicle. He turned to Keith, and his naturally narrow eyes were narrowed further in what he must've thought was an intimidating expression. Keith wasn't impressed.

"Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Gokane," he said, "You don't tell me how to drive. I know what I'm doing."

"You could've fooled me."

"I don't see what you're complaining about." McClain argued, "We got here in one piece, didn't we?"

"Yeah, out of sheer luck."

"Luck had nothing to do with it!"

"Not from where I'm _miraculously_ standing," Keith said.

"You know what? It doesn't matter what you think. I'm your boss, so you can take your opinion and shove it."

Keith froze, belatedly realizing that, even if he didn't care about this job, he needed it if he was going to find anything about the McClain company involvement in his case. He didn't know exactly how much authority the McClain heir had to fire him, considering his hire had been a favor to the actual CEO, but he was coming dangerously close to testing that authority.

He realized he'd need to placate the temperamental heir if he had any hope of seeing this through. He managed to swallow his pride long enough to force out the words, though they were almost physically painful, "You're right, sir. I apologize. I meant no offense."

McClain snorted, making Keith jerk in surprise. "I didn't say you had to lie."

Keith kept his retort quiet as the McClain heir made as if to exit the vehicle. Keith placed a restraining hand out reflexively. "Wait, I need to check the area first."

The McClain heir spluttered in response, and Keith used the momentary distraction to step out of the vehicle into the dimness of the parking structure. He didn't think there was any actual threat, but he'd never let it be said that he didn't at least do his job. He was in the middle of completing his inspection when the McClain heir clambered out of the vehicle, all long limbs and indignance.

"I'm not some defenseless client you can just order around," he complained. He then proceeded to stride to the back of his hovercar and pop the trunk, then turned and stood expectantly.

Keith ignored him, completing his inspection of the area before coming up to McClain's side. McClain's face grew disturbingly smug before he crossed his arms and raised an impatient eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Keith asked, suspecting he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Aren't you going to get my luggage for me?" he asked, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

Keith felt like pointing out that he was McClain's bodyguard, not his valet, and that he could carry his own damn luggage, thank you very much, but managed to stifle himself with the reminder that this was only temporary. Just until he got the answers he needed. He could endure this for now. "Yes _sir_ ," he said, grinding an extra layer off his teeth.

Keith's arms were burning by the time they made it to the 105th floor where the McClain heir's apartment was located. Keith had no idea what the McClain heir had brought in his giant trunk of a suitcase, but it felt like more than could fit into Keith's entire bedroom.

When McClain keyed in the unlock code and the automatic door slid open with a hiss, the view momentarily surprised even Keith. Beyond the raised entryway, the opposite wall was taken up entirely by a window that overlooked the city whose lights were blazing in full force now that the sun had dipped just below the visible horizon. Keith barely noticed the plush, expensive furniture arranged tastefully around the high-ceilinged living space, his eyes were glued to the view. Keith couldn't help but compare this view to his own narrow window that faced a impressively drab cement wall.

He guessed this was the kind of view you could afford when you inherited millions from your father's interstellar company.

"Not too bad, huh?" McClain asked. Strangely, he seemed more wistful than smug, and Keith suddenly felt uncomfortable at the blatant show of emotion on the young man's face.

"It's okay," Keith said, ignoring the way his offhanded tone made the other man's features cloud with irritation, "Where do you want this?" He indicated his and the McClain heir's luggage still in his arms.

"You can leave it there," McClain said. "I'll take it to my room, which is off-limits to you." He said the last part as though its defiance carried a death sentence. Keith immediately felt an inexplicable and persuasive desire to peak inside the room that he hadn't had just a moment before. It would be entirely for reconnaissance reasons, of course.

Keith shrugged, in no way enjoying the way his continued lack of a response seemed to irritate the heir even more. "Come here, I'll show you the bathroom, and the closet where you'll find blankets and stuff to use. The front room is yours for the duration." He pointed to a door at the end of the hallway closest to the entrance. Despite his annoyance, this seemed to be all very routine for the heir. Keith supposed it wasn't surprising, considering his family's status. And they weren't universally well liked, if the briefing file was anything to go by.

McClain picked up his luggage, obviously struggling to carry them while simultaneously making it look effortless, and failing miserably. Keith only barely managed to keep his eyes from rolling. McClain paused at his bedroom door, sliding a panel above the doorknob to reveal a number pad. He glared pointedly at Keith, who hadn't realized he'd been watching so closely until then. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, yet again, he turned away and carried his own luggage toward the room the heir had indicated earlier, his eyebrow raising despite himself at the sound of a heaving lock disengaging and the scrape of soft luggage on hardwood flooring as McClain dragged his luggage into his bedroom.

Keith found that his own door had a lock of its own, with a small slip of paper with instructions for setting a code for his own lock tucked into his own panel. Keith followed the relatively straightforward instructions and quickly had his own lock set up, marvelling at the little yet big things that showed how different his life and the McClain heir's were.

He stopped short at the sight of his own bedroom.

He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting. A thin, mouse-eaten mattress thrown on the floor of an otherwise bare room? Of course not. But he also hadn't expected a room with another wall taken up entirely by another reinforced window. On the solid wall to his left sat a large, plush bed piled overzealously with a silk comforter and pillows. Two hardwood nightstands stood sentry on both sides. On the wall to his left was an irresponsibly large dresser made of wood that matched both the bed frame and night stands. Clearly all purchased as a set.

Shaking his head, Keith set his sole suitcase on the dresser. He didn't bother to place his clothes inside - he had no intention of staying long enough for that - but he knew his clothes would easily fit in one drawer. Keith opened an adjoining door next to the dresser, which led to his own private bathroom. He was prepared for lavishness by this point, so he was only slightly overwhelmed by the bathroom that looked straight out of a decor catalogue. Everything looked too big and too much for just one person, shining and clean, replete with all the latest in toilet technology.

Keith spent the next few minutes fiddling with the indecipherable touchscreen options for the sink until he could wash his face, and even then the water pressure was so high it splashed all over the counter and mirror. He shuddered at the thought of using the toilet later.

He decided he'd worry about that when it came to it.

Keith couldn't sleep. He'd managed to figure out the toilet and ready himself for bed after a brief stint in the kitchen. He'd hoped to find something to eat. He'd forgotten to eat all day while he studied his briefing material, but the McClain heir had holed himself up in his bedroom, and he hadn't answered when Keith knocked on his door. That meant Keith could've rifled through the heir's groceries, creating a potentially awkward situation for himself, or he could just do without food till tomorrow.

Food just wasn't worth the risk.

Keith had slept with hunger plenty of times before, no problem. But it had been a long ass time since then, and his thoughts were doing nothing to calm his nerves. After shifting for the hundredth time that night, Keith finally threw the uncomfortably soft blankets off and walked out into the hall. Keith crept carefully out to the living area, watching the McClain heir's door closely until he stepped into the wide space of the living room.

Keith breathed deeply, then slowly bent at the waist, starting to go through his grounding forms. He warmed up in this way until he could feel the beginnings of sweat dampening his shirt and his breath quickening. Then he he set about his practice in earnest, battling an imaginary enemy in unarmed combat as though his life depended on it. He dodged, hooked, kicked, and rolled, long past the point his muscles began to ache and his lungs burned in protest, sweat dripping in rivulets down his back and face.

As he did so, his thoughts seemed to brighten into tightly controlled focus, giving his movements a sharper edge as he again reprocessed the events of the past few weeks. The disappearances in the Lower Block weren't the "usual result of the transient community" as one local officer had tried to persuade him. There was a specific type of person disappearing, people whose only connections would have little means to follow up on their vanishing. Taken singularly they hadn't seemed to be anything more than tragic. But as many as there'd been in the past month alone and who knew how long it'd been going on before Keith had first been approached about the phenomenon - it all added up to something much bigger.

He'd gotten too close to the truth, he realized, and for once, instead of angering him, he felt a thrill of determination at the thought. They'd pushed him away because he'd gotten too close. That meant he'd been on the right track, and no amount of extortionary persuasion was going to sway his resolve in this.

It was only after his muscles were shaking with effort that Keith collapsed, exhausted and panting on the floor. With his body and mind finally slowed by fatigue, he fell onto the living room couch. He'd be able to sleep better here than the overly opulent bed of his temporary bedroom. Besides, he added to himself, he was in a better defensive position between the most likely point of entry and McClain than he'd been in his room down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lance jerked violently in a tangle of limbs and blankets on the floor, terror spurring him to scramble ineffectually to extricate himself from his restraints. Suffocating panic clogged his throat. He struggled for breath, pants turning into ragged gasps as his mindless thrashing only made him more helplessly entangled. A swirling cesspool in his gut sent any remotely coherent thought scattering, his stomach heaving in protest.

It was only after he'd worked himself up so much that he banged his head against a leg of his nightstand that he was snapped into the reality of his situation. He blinked blearily around him, still breathing heavily, lump in his throat. He took on the plush carpeting and high tech accoutrements, and realized he wasn't on at the GBI Training facility on Iara. It was another moment before he remembered he was at his old apartment back home.

Vague, disorienting snatches of his recent dream flash behind his eyes and he shuddered. A nightmare, then, nothing more. He clung to that thought, his body still trembling pathetically at the residual fear of his dream and unpleasant memories. It was years ago, he reminded himself. He was safe now. He was grown and nowhere near as helpless.

Lance jumped and scrambled to a seated position at a knock on his door.

"Mr. McClain? Is everything okay?" Lance groaned inwardly. Kevin. How the hell had this guy even heard him? He'd thought the sound buffer between their rooms would've given him enough privacy to make living with a stranger more bearable. Evidently Kevin was equipped with super hearing.

"Everything's _fine_!" Lance shouted to be heard through the door, his confusion and fear temporarily dissipating in a hot rush of irritation and embarrassment, "Just trying to take a piss and tripped, so you can cool your jets, Mr. Leadfoot."

"O-kay…" Kevin said, and Lance wasn't sure if that was awkwardness or hesitation in his voice. "If you're sure."

"Pretty fucking sure," Lance said, "Now can I sleep in peace? Or are you going to hover outside my door for the rest of the night?"

"Good night, then, Mr. McClain," Kevin said, his voice now clipped.

Lance sighed in relief when he heard the man's retreating footsteps and slumped against his nightstand. From there, he only managed to curl in on himself, body trembling. He hugged his midsection with shaking arms, struggling to pull himself together, unable to shake the sense of parasitic anxiety lodged under his skin. He was just glad he only had a vague recollection of his nightmare now. Living through their cause had been more than enough.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, shivering and trying to just focus on his breathing. After a time, though, his shudders subsided, and he forced tight muscles to relax, his bones creaking and stiff after the prolonged pressure. As he did so, he became aware of the way his satin, lion print pajamas clung to his sweat-soaked skin and the strap of his night mask hung from one ear.

All over again, he felt his stomach roil, but this time at the realization that he hadn't even spent one day back home and already he was falling apart. He tried to remind himself that there was nothing to be ashamed of - as his mom had assured him countless times before. It was easier said than done, though, and was made harder by the fact that he was an adult now. He was supposed to be over this. At these thoughts, he was struck with a sudden and aching need to speak to his mom. He felt instinctively that it couldn't wait till morning.

He twisted to reach for his com device, but his fingers found nothing. He felt his heart speed up irrationally as a cursory search of the floor brought up nothing. He came creakily to his feet, peering around his room until his eyes found what his was looking for and his heart sank.

He had no recollection of it, but he must've knocked down his com device when he'd fallen out of bed. It had landed at just the right angle to shatter its screen, rendering it useless. He reigned in his new anxiety at this loss of his connection to his loved ones, reminding himself that he'd come too far to let something like this send him spiralling.

First things first, he reminded himself, he needed to calm his nerves. He stumbled blearily to the bathroom, then pulled up the faucet controls on the wall panel beside the bathtub, preparing a shower and retrieving bottles of his favorite skincare products. It'd been years since he'd experienced a nightmare this intense, but the anxiety over his brother coupled with his disrupted sleep routine must've been enough to set his brain off.

If there was nothing else he'd learned over the years, though, it was that there was little a prolonged skincare session, shower, and a proper night's rest couldn't assuage.

Lance jerked upright after what could only be - _at most_ \- a few minutes since he'd laid down. He blinked unhappily at his waking, not sure what had prompted it, but he was glad this one was much more manageable than his first rude awakening this night. The medication and self care had worked their magic, at least, even if he didn't feel quite as rested as he'd like. He started again at an insistent knock at his door. At the voice that accompanied it, he felt irritation quickly override any lingering affects from the night before.

There was no question what, or rather, _who_ had woken him up now.

"Mr. McClain," Kevin said, his voice muffled but in no way as contrite as it should've been. "If you don't at least make it through the door today, I'll lose my job."

Lance scoffed. For someone who said they were worried about keeping their job, he was being awfully irritable toward his employer. Employer's _son_ , Lance amended inwardly, the thought souring his mood further.

"Mr. McClain?" Kevin knocked again, and Lance groaned. "Are you in there?"

"Could you wait a second?!" Lance shouted through the door, "I'll be out in a second. Just give me a chance to wake up. _Jeez._ " He muttered the last under his breath.

Groggily, he fiddled with the controls at this bedside, and the soothing nighttime sky display of his wall shut off to reveal his floor-to-ceiling window. Immediately he was assaulted by glaring mid-morning sunlight. "Agh!" Lance yelped, squinting and frantically adjusting his controls to add some shade. When he'd managed to lower the lighting to a bearable level, a sinking realization sending a jolt of adrenaline through him.

He reached for his com unit on his nightstand, only to remember he'd wrecked it the night before. "Awe, damnit!" Lance groaned. He was so used to relying on his comm unit to wake him, he'd neglected to set a new alarm on his bed panel before he'd gone back to bed. He pulled up the clock display on his bedside panel and groaned again. He was late. _Very_ late. And on his first day back, too. He should've been at work an _hour_ ago, and he wasn't even out of bed yet.

He scrambled out of bed, thankful for the recorded presets from the night before for his shower controls. He stepped out of his lion slippers and robe, then proceeded to take the fastest shower of his life. He rushed some steps to his routine, wincing inwardly at the damage control he'd have to do later. While meticulous, he was speedy with his ministrations, and was already placing the finishing touches to his suit in under an hour. Record time.

There was another knock on his door. It almost sounded resigned now. "Are you done, yet?" came Kevin's aggravated growl.

Lance made one last adjustment to his his hair, then opened his door. "Yes," He brushed past Kevin, who looked just as messy-haired and tired as the day before. Lance was starting to wonder if this was the guy's every day look and not just the product of a long day. Kevin had paused, mid-breath, apparently about to say something, but caught off guard by Lance's sudden appearance.

"Well?" Lance prompted when Kevin didn't immediately follow. What was this guy's deal? One second he couldn't wait to get out the door, the next he was standing there, looking wide-eyed and - Lance stopped. Was he blushing? Oh.

 _Oh._

So the duty-driven bodyguard was human. Lance felt a grin spreading across his face. "I do clean up nicely, don't I?"

Kevin's mouth, which had been slightly open, clamped shut, and he resumed his customary look of distant judgement. "It's just surprising to see you taking dress code seriously," he said stiffly, "Let's go." He stomped past Lance, ignoring the knowing look he shot his way.

That, apparently, was the end of that.

The ride to work was surprisingly enjoyable after that, even with Lance's nagging worry about what the end of the ride would mean.

"So," Lance said, side-eying Keith who sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat beside him, "How long have you been with the company?"

There was an uncomfortably long silence where Lance thought Kevin was going to ignore yet another of his questions when, finally, he answered, "This will be my second day."

Lance started. It wasn't like his dad to assign new bodyguards to him, not after what'd happened when he was a kid at least. "You...must be good at what you do." He probed carefully.

"I was top ranked," he said, "You have nothing to worry about."

Lance rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried about that. I can handle myself. Just curious."

The expression on his face made it clear what he thought of that, but he didn't say anything. Lance sighed and glanced at Kevin after another long stretch of silence. "You're gonna love the McClain HQ. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've always been pretty popular there."

A muscle in Kevin's hand twitched, "Just watch the road."

"Geez, are you always this cranky in the morning?" Lance asked. Maybe this ride wasn't so fun after all. "It's fine. I drive all the time. Still here, see?" Lance gestured to himself.

"It's impossible not to." Kevin said.

Lance grinned. "I have that effect on a lot of people," He said, ignoring the intended insult just to annoy Kevin more, "My point still stands."

Kevin just continued staring straight ahead and hummed noncommittally.

The rest of ride to work was uncomfortably quiet, marked by only one terse request for him to slow down, which Lance ignored, and they arrived in better time than he could've hoped for. Although, that hadn't been accounting for the fact that the usual stream of morning traffic on their way to work had largely made it to said destination this late in the morning.

They entered the parking garage that was nestled under the looming figure of the McClain HQ tower. The building's Stellar Glass exterior gleamed, a shadow of the bright beacon it would be at night as it absorbed the energy from countless distant stars to power it for the next day.

Lance's neck muscles were already tensing despite himself, even as he fell into his practiced exterior of calm confidence.

Lance didn't even complain when Kevin told him to stay inside again for his little safety walk around that car. Anything to put this ordeal for at least a moment longer. He'd been dreading this even before he knew he was going to show up late, and his tardiness would only add fuel to the very hungry fire.

After Kevin signaled it was safe to step out, Lance followed the guard's lead reluctantly, trying his best to convince himself he was just allowing Kevin to cut a path for him. He blinked and they were at the sliding glass doorway to the main lobby. Had they already walked that far? He hardly remembered the path from the parking garage to the front of the building. There was no way they'd already made it here.

Kevin seemed oblivious to the momentousness of the occasion, heading single-mindedly to the keypad to swipe his shiny new badge for entry. He didn't even stop to take in the tourist-friendly and - if Lance was feeling agreeable - _impressive_ facade. He just turned expectantly toward Lance, who realized belatedly that Kevin was waiting for him and managed to force uncooperative limbs forward.

He was a fraud and he knew it, parachuting in from his father's lofty perch to this elevated position in the company. He was sure everyone would see it the moment he set foot in this place. He gritted his teeth and shook his head at his own melodrama. Even if all that was true, like hell he'd let that stop him from proving every last one of them wrong. Or at least, not failing horribly while trying to find out what was going on with his brother.

He turned to Kevin, feeling buoyed by his internal pep talk, "Let's show these people how Lance McClain runs a company."

Kevin raised that annoying eyebrow of his. "How does 'Lance McClain' plan on doing that as the Division Head?"

"I mean, Division," Lance said, "How I run a Division. But still. You know what I mean. I'm going to show them how it's done."

Turning back toward the doorway to forestal any further comment, Lance now took decisive steps forward. Only to stop short halfway through the front door at the unwelcome sight of the Galra man before him.

"Well, well, well," said the white haired man, a superior grin curving his thin lips. "The prodigal son finally returns. It only took him," he paused to make an exaggerated show of glancing down at this halo watch, " _Three_ extra hours to get here. But I guess even that's an improvement, isn't it?"

"You're wasting your time if you think you'll get a contract through me," Lance said, glowering. The insufferable man had spent years unsuccessfully trying to worm his way into a lucrative contract with McClain Industries. "And it was only two and a half hours." He sounded petulant even to himself.

"Oh, come on, Lancelot, aren't you going to say hi to your old friend?" The man's yellow eyes gleamed with malice, and Lance groaned inwardly. Of all the people to see first.

"It's Lance. And you and I have very different definitions of the word 'friend,' Lotor." he said, "Anyway, I'd love to stay and have an idle chat, but some of us have actual work to do."

Lotor's smile widened, his purple complexion practically glowing, and Lance felt his heart sink at the sight. "Not to worry, Lancelot, your dad sent me here to show you around the place since there've been so many changes."

"He sent _you?_ Why?" Lance asked.

"I know the building's layout pretty well, you see, I had a large part in the redesign of this tower. Or rather, I was in charge of it." Lotor said.

 _Redesign?_ What was Lotor talking about? And how the hell had he finally scored the contract Lance's brother had sworn he'd never grant?

"That can't be true," Lance said, wondering why his brother had never said anything about this. Something that big usually came up in their frequent conversations. "My dad hates your dad. Why would he put

Lotor's eyes narrowed briefly, but his lips stayed curved. "I impressed him with my performance. Not all of us make our way in this world solely on the coattails of our parents' accomplishments."

Lance gritted his teeth at that, struggling for composure, then he managed to wave his hand dismissively. This was already taking up more time than it should have, and the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get rid of Lotor. "Fine. Whatever. Let's go then."

He strode toward turnstile, glancing at the security guard at the front desk to buzz him through. Instead, the forked-tongued alien gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'll need to see some ID," he said, his consonants as sharp as his uniform.

Lance flashed the man a smile. "You won't need one for me. It's me, Lance McClain."

The man looked slightly uncomfortable, glancing over at Lotor before saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but it's required for everyone."

"I'm Lance _McClain_ ," Lance huffed, astonished, "You know, the name on the building. I don't need a badge." He never had before.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's a requirement per, ah, new Facilities management." The reptilian man's eyes flickered to Lotor again, and Lance had a sneaking suspicion he knew where the new policy had come from, "No exceptions."

Lance wanted to protest further, but managed to clamp his mouth shut. A small part of him knew it made sense, but an even larger part of him wanted to bully his way through just to spite Lotor. Still, he knew that kind of reaction would play right into Lotor's long-fingered spider hands. He glanced at Kevin, who looked just as bewildered as Lance was and shrugged.

Lance turned to Lotor. No matter what, learning more about his brother would mean getting into the building, and Lotor was apparently his only option in at this point. A lot had apparently changed since Lance had been away. The Galran man had managed to set himself up as Lance's literal gatekeeper. "Well, Mr. Facilities Management, how do I get my badge?" Lance asked. There. That was polite.

Lotor returned his question with a sudden look of insincere chagrin. "Oh, hah. Silly me. So irresponsible. I'm sure you can relate," Lotor gave Lance a conspiratorial smile as though they shared some inside joke, "I have your badge ready for you here." He pulled a lanyard with Lance's badge from his back pocket and held it out to him.

Lance reached for it, half expecting the man to yank his hand back at the last second, and took the lanyard to hang from his neck.

"Okay," said Kevin, surprising both Lance and Lotor, "Now that that's taken care of, let's go." Lance glanced at Kevin ignoring Lotor for the moment, and was impressed to see Kevin flicking his usual annoyed expression at Lotor. Apparently he was just as unamused as Lance was with Lotor's games. For the first time since they'd met, Lance felt a brief glimmer of appreciation for his bodyguard.

Lotor spent a moment studying Kevin before he turned back to address Lance, as though Kevin was beneath wasting his breath on, "Very well. Let's."


End file.
